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Carnaval


O bloco batia os tambores com vontade, mais vontade que, de fato, maestria. No meio do Planalto Central ecoava a batida de um Maracatu, um pouco encolhido, mas ainda assim potente. Um ritmo que para alguns parece que enjoa rápido, mas que, para mim, bate dentro do coração. Ouvia e dançava, levada ora pela música, ora pelas lembranças de outros carnavais em que gigantes maracatus com seus cortejos reais me engoliam e carregavam. Caminhou entre nós um rapaz magro. Não dançava. Em uma das mãos, carregava um celular, na outra, um flutuante ramalhete de balões, desses de gás Hélio. 

Boiavam sobre sua cabeça, Mickeys, Aviões, Unicórnios e Pepas Pig. Seria esse seu único trabalho? Vender balões? Seria um bico? Uma forma de fazer um extra no Carnaval? Caminhou em direção aos tambores, preto, magro e sério, celular em punho. Não sorria e não dançava. Não parecia muito certo do seu direito de estar ali e contemplar. Olhava, de todo modo atentamente para o grupo e para o visor do celular. Gilberto, olhou pra mim e disse: 

- Ele quer filmar o Maracatu, mas a câmera tá virada pra ele. 
- Como é que você sabe que ele não quer filmar a si mesmo?
 - Não quer! Ele quer filmar o bloco
Cutuquei o moço levemente pelo braço, a empatia de Gilberto não superaria sua timidez:
- Moço, cê quer filmar o bloco?”
Fez que sim com a cabeça em silêncio. Será do interior? Será de Pernambuco?
- A câmera tá ao contrário. Posso arrumar pra você.
Arrumamos eu e Gilberto, o processo demorou alguns segundos.
- Pronto, moço! 

A música já mudara um pouco, perdera um pouco do batuque, agora soava suave. 
O celular mirava o lado desejado, mas, mesmo assim, nada filmava, o moço esquecera de apertar o botão vermelho. Olhava fixamente o visor. Vi Gilberto atravessar o braço e apertar o botão de gravar. O moço sorriu um desses sorrisos que não mostram os dentes, assentiu com a cabeça, e voltou o olhar e o celular para os pífanos que se juntavam agora aos tambores.  

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